The Weaver's Source

Chapter 106

"Grigore, its Lillith." I told him joyously as I rubbed the beast's nose and smoothed down the thick whiskers that grew from her cheeks. She whistled contentedly and fluttered her two pairs of ears happily like butterflies.

Grigore sheathed Ursus and scowled at the dead child left behind by Sorin before he swung his attention to Lillith.

"It isn't."

I looked sharply at him, confused. "But I can hear her magic. This is Lillith. I'm certain."

"You're right but it's not Lillith. It's her magic." I blinked at him as he stepped forward, wrapping an arm about my waist to pull my back against his chest. "Lillith is dead, Lyra. You sensed her passing, you know this. And no one, no matter how much magic they have, can bring the dead back. Once they're gone, they're done." He said, softening his tone when he noticed the confusion and sorrow I was feeling, blurring my eyes into a blue and purple mess. "This beast is a sylph."

I stared at its eyes, noticing how honey coloured they were, not a constant shift in colour like Lillith's had been. "A sylph?" I echoed.

"I've never seen one before but they're often described as this."

"But what is it?"

"The magic of a Source, the leftovers full of too much humanity to disperse properly."

I stared at the sylph as she watched me intently, feeling the sense of losing Lillith all over again. The sylph seemed to register this and whistled sadly, shoving its nose against my cheek and purred gently, making me smile at the warm affection.

"As Lillith felt an attachment to you, her sylph will come to you when you need help." Grigore said, smiling thinly. "I imagine she spends most of her time around the farming village however."

"Will my magic become one of these too?"

Grigore shrugged. "Yes, although I heard age depends on their strength and size. If you died right now, yours would be nothing but a fawn, tiny and weak."

I scrunched my nose up at the idea my sylph being useless while Lillith's was huge and powerful. She had scared off Sorin after all. Abruptly my thoughts sobered as I recalled what had nearly happened and what he had tried to do. He had tried to kill me.

"Sorin's gone." I muttered as I gazed about the white world.

Grigore hummed deeply and pressed his face into my hair. "I know. I'll find him."

"But we can let him come to us. He said he would in two days."

"He's preparing, that's why. He's given me two days to find him before he is ready and I don't want to give him that time." He pulled me closer, his magic swelling through me as he inhaled my scent, then he let go abruptly as he gathered the small dead child into his arms. "Stay put, Lyra."

I watched as he strode away, knowing he was going to put an end to the child, and turned to Lillith, letting my fingers brush her velvet nose.

"We need your help." I said. "Can you find Sorin at all? He'll be in a fort or ruin, damaged by fire."

Lillith raised her head and blinked her eyes slowly. Her magic hummed in resonating drums and cries, growing louder and louder and thrumming hard against the palm of my hand. I felt the resolution in her, the rage. She pawed at the snow with her long pawed feet and lowered her head, letting my hands grasp her face, our songs entwining, then she was gone.

I stared at the space where she had stood, leaving behind only the tiniest of indents in the snow, as worry began to churn. I recalled Sorin's malice, his madness, the obvious corruption that had ravaged him. And all that pain and suffering was aimed at Grigore. Nothing was going to hold him back from slaying Grigore if it meant he'd live a little longer. I felt my chest tighten and a sense of helplessness take me. How was I going to protect Grigore from Sorin? Grigore was right; I posed no real threat. I couldn't harm a mage trained for ninety years to hunt down monsters. What weapon training I had meant little and my magic was ultimately useless to me.